


Prompts, Drabbles, and Wtf?s

by dayoldcupcake



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Animals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anger Management, Canon Compliant, Closeted Character, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2018-07-23 18:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7475868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayoldcupcake/pseuds/dayoldcupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of (primarily Stan/Kyle fluff) stories ranging 500-2,500 words each.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hot Guy on a Bus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Stan/Kyle, Modern AU) 475 words
> 
> Prompt from @julads - Stan is a hot guy on Kyle’s bus route.

Kyle is going to be late.  Again.

He comes to this realization as soon as the first droplet of rain hits his nose, a big fat thing that lands with such force it splatters all over his cheeks and lips.  Kyle forgot to check the forecast this morning, so of course he didn’t think to bring an umbrella.  He was already running late, having gone back to his apartment once before to retrieve his cellphone.  Now, the thought of turning back _again_ and sprinting up four flights of stairs _again_ makes him want to lay down on the damp asphalt and surrender to life.  He thinks about the few homeless people he walks by on his way to and from the office; they don’t look so unhappy.  They certainly seem more content than he does when he passes them, well into the evening, having just finished another fourteen hours of work at his fuck barrel of a job.

If he’s being honest with himself, it’s not even the possibility of getting fired or, even worse, not, that’s making him want to rip out his hair.  No, he’s pissed that he will probably miss the 7:14 bus, thus depriving himself of the one good thing in his day.  It’s such a small thing, too, one that effectively demonstrates the sorry state of his life.  There’s this guy on the bus, and the highlight of Kyle’s morning is getting to stare at him, hoping that maybe this is one of the rare mornings the guy turns around to flash Kyle a smile.

It’s stupid, embarrassing, and self-destructive; the guy is obviously straight, and impossibly out of Kyle’s league regardless.  They likely wouldn’t even get along, judging by the assortment of “meat is murder”, “give peas a chance”, and PETA logo buttons adorning the guy’s canvas messenger bag.

Still, Kyle can’t help himself.  Like a helpless junkie, he always looks forward to his daily fix of sweet-faced boy, with those dreamy blue eyes and silky black hair, messy in a sexy, too-hot-to-give-a-shit-about-combs sorta way.

Kyle boards the bus at a sprint, arriving with just seconds to spare.  His suit jacket is freckled with dark, wet spots, and his hair is especially frizzy from the humidity.  Kyle clutches at the silver bar nearest the door, hunched forward and panting, badly out of shape from spending his life bent over a desk.  His first thought is of his trusty pocket hand-sanitizer–imagine all the nasty germs multiplying on this bar–but then his eyes reliably begin to search for that hair, or perhaps that pretentious bag.

The guy is already watching Kyle, looking concerned.  Kyle straightens himself up and looks back, communicating that he is totally fine, no worries.  A few moments later, the man smiles brightly, and it’s all Kyle needs to get through the rest of the day.

  


  
( Art by the crazyamazing [mad-tuna](https://mad-tuna.tumblr.com/post/144326486058/dayoldcupcake-wrote-julads-cute-prompt-idea). )


	2. Beloved Kyle Dies After Zoo Break-In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Stan/Kyle, Animal AU) 403 words
> 
> Weird idea I had. Wrote it to kill time on a six-hour bus ride.

It was a highly controversial decision on the part of the Denver Zoo, both lauded and condemned by divided sides of various animal rights groups. It’s the natural order of things, many argued, for animals to die, and humans shouldn’t interfere. It was tragic, certainly, particularly in this case, given the mate survived. Still, zoos have no right keeping species whose natural behaviors they can’t respect.

And yet, others argued, this was different. This Stan was special, beloved by a generation of schoolchildren who would come on field trips to study his behaviors, sketch his peculiar pelts, and write reports on his unique interactions with his mate. Now, his slow, painful decline would happen in public, in plain view of those same children, from 9am to 5pm.

As for the cause of all this outcry, there was nothing natural about it, about how four malicious fraternity boys broke into the zoo after hours with a caged, black-market Cartman. The young men were bored and selfish and stupid; they had an excess of money from their wealthy parents. They’d watched documentaries in HD, but that couldn’t compare to the real thing, a real-life battle between two of nature’s fiercest predators.

In the wild, Kyles stand a decent chance against Cartmans, but this one had been born and raised in captivity. He never stood a chance, not once they set a wild Cartman loose inside the safety of his enclosure.

A security guard heard the commotion and rushed to tranquilize the Cartman, but it was too late. The on-site vet could treat the Stan’s injuries, but the Kyle succumbed to his. Once that happened, and the Stan began refusing food and water, the zookeepers knew it was only a matter of time.

It was horrible and pointless and sad, but there was really nothing to be done. Stans and Kyles mate for life; you can’t just introduce a new Kyle to a grieving Stan. Once, a zoo attempted to keep a mourning Kyle alive by force-feeding him, but PETA decried the act as inhumane and the zoo soon succumbed to public pressure and stopped. Free to follow his instincts, the Kyle retreated to his den and died six days later.

This plan was different, though. The Denver Zoo held an emergency meeting with experts from around the world, and they were going to try something crazy to save their most popular animal, PETA be damned.

(tbc??) 

  
( Art by the crazyamazing [mad-tuna](https://dayoldcupcake.tumblr.com/post/146103941464/beloved-kyle-dies-after-zoo-break-in). )


	3. Two Bouquets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Kyle/David) 910 words
> 
> Bought a commission (shown below!) and inspired myself to write about a different pairing for a change.
> 
> This is basically my reply to the super popular trope of closeted!Stan jerking around Kyle, who just puts up with it for years and never dates anyone else(!?). I love Style, but not that version of it. ;;

“Stan, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Kyle doesn’t wait for an answer; he grabs Stan by the bicep and pulls him just around the corner of the hallway. Kyle catches a glimpse of David’s apprehensive expression as they speed away, left standing in front of Kyle’s locker with a bouquet of flowers, looking like a kicked puppy. Kyle tries not to feel pissed off, but no, fuck that. He needs David to be the sane one, the stabilizing force against Stan’s crazy. David dropped the ball, and now he deserves to feel bad about it.

Kyle knows Bebe will corner him later, give him that sultry look, and tease him about having had two handsome boys fighting for his affections in front of the entire school. She doesn’t seem to understand: one of them already has his affections, and the other is slowly chipping away at his mental health. He isn’t flattered. He just wants to go to AP History class and show Wendy up with his superior interpretations of War & Peace. 

“Kyle, what? What did I do??” Stan’s voice rises with each word, eventually hitting an excruciating whine that is way, way too close to resembling Randy.

“I thought you were straight, dude!” Kyle shouts, exhausted to be having this conversation. Again.

“I am,” Stan says, firmly, just as he has countless times since Kyle came out to him last year. Stan can’t affirm his support for Kyle’s homosexuality without an immediate reminder of his own straightness. There’s inherent offense buried in there, the implication that obviously Kyle’s gayness is mutually inclusive of a desire for Stan’s dick. It pisses off Kyle, because it’s narcissistic and based on an untrue gay stereotype–all gay men want all other men at all times–, but also, it just so happens to be a little true in this particular case.

“So why the fuck are you showing up at my locker with flowers on Valentine’s Day?” Kyle demands, his fists clenched.

With equal parts predictability and absurdity, Stan responds, “‘Cuz you’re my best friend.”

“Stan, have you seen any straight guy give another guy flowers? Ever?”

Stan huffs and crosses his arms, starting to look a little pissed off himself. "Yah, David just did.“

Kyle slams his head into the wall of the hallway and leaves it there, teeth clenched. "Stan, David isn’t straight. I’m not his buddy. I’ve explained this to you. We’re going out. We’re boyfriends. Gay boyfriends. Flowers are a romantic gesture.”

Stan scoffs, “Not always! Wendy and I are going out, and I didn’t get her any flowers!” When this is met with silence, he continues, “You know, 'cuz she’s not my best friend.”

Kyle still has his head buried in the dusty concrete of the wall; his eyes are closed, and when the bell sounds, signaling that his flawless punctuality is going to be once against marred by Stan’s crisis of sexuality, he slides down into a crouch. He has nothing else to say to Stan. You can’t reason with someone this deep in denial.

Eventually, Kyle feels hands on his shoulders, and he looks up to see David, appropriately cowed, wordlessly communicating his many apologies for sinking to Stan’s level. Kyle allows himself to be pulled up to a standing position, allows David to pull him into a hug. Kyle can’t help but notice Stan fuming, and somehow it makes everything a little better. With each passing week, his attraction to Stan is being eroded by these temper tantrums. It turns out that being a closeted moron is not exactly alluring.

David pulls away and takes Kyle’s hand, leading him in the direction of the AP History classroom. Because, Kyle allows himself to acknowledge and appreciate, David has memorized Kyle’s schedule. David is thoughtful enough to ensure Kyle get to class first, and to walk him there so Stan can’t delay him any further.

Of course, David is still human, and so, he also does the one thing guaranteed to push every last one of Stan’s buttons. He speaks to Kyle exclusively in Spanish, at full volume, right in front of Stan, who does not understand a word of it.

“C'mon, vámonos a clase.”

Predictably, Stan seethes, and Kyle can’t help but join in a little when David starts to laugh. It’s especially hilarious when their conversations are so innocuous and mundane. 

Perhaps they are acting a bit cruel, but Stan has been fucking with Kyle’s emotions for longer than he even realizes, and sometimes it feels totally justified.

Before David transferred to South Park, Kyle would probably have been condemned to years of heartbreak while he watched Stan struggle to prove himself with Wendy. Sure, Stan is fated to have a breakdown at some point in college, but for all of high school, Kyle wouldn’t have had any allies, except perhaps Butters, who is totally lame. Now, he has something way, way better.

Just before they reach the door, David gives Kyle a quick kiss on the cheek and whispers, “No te preocupes. Él nomas se está asiendo el menso.”

Kyle’s Spanish is nowhere near the level necessary to convey his many feelings, and so he settles for something much simpler, a statement guaranteed to make David just as happy as twenty pages of heartfelt love letter. "Yeah, que se chinga su madre.“

David’s face lights up, and for a moment, Kyle can’t even remember why he was ever upset.

  
( Art and Spanish Help by the fantastic [marcobodtschickennuggets](https://dayoldcupcake.tumblr.com/post/147140182804/marcobodtschickennuggets-which-loser-would-you). )


	4. Stan & Kyle’s Romantic Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Stan/Kyle) 2,303 words
> 
> Prompt from @agathaa123 - Kyle taking care of a hungover Stan.
> 
> This is me proving I can write Stan and Kyle's worst qualities and still steer their dysfunctional relationship toward fluff and a happy ending.

“Bye,” Kyle calls out, his hand on the door, ready to pull it shut behind him. Nothing is going to stop him from making that boat. They paid two hundred dollars–nonrefundable. He has nothing to feel guilty about, not even knowing that Stan will spend his entire day in this room, probably in tears. This is a regular occurrence, Stan losing a day to a hangover, and something Kyle more-or-less knowingly signed up for when he accepted Stan’s fourth and final marriage proposal. Still, that doesn’t obligate Kyle to sacrifice his days as well, to stay home, ration Cheez-its, and rinse vomit from the bathroom trash can.

Usually, Kyle does drop everything to look after Stan. It’s not entirely selfish; Stan’s subsequent guilt from subjecting his emetophobic husband to literal buckets of vomit almost always means there will be at least a few months of sobriety before the next binge, rather than just a few weeks. Stan has a problem, yes, but he knows that, and he does his best to keep it under control. Otherwise, he is a fantastic guy, so it’s easy enough for Kyle to overlook this one thing.

Except, not today. It’s one thing if he and Stan were just planning to spend the day at home; at worst, Kyle gets a little less done around the house. Even when Stan gets fucked up and they have to cancel actual plans, say, that midnight showing of the new Ghostbusters movie, or one of their monthly double-dates with the McCormicks, Kyle can usually be persuaded to forgive Stan with enough groveling and oral sex. Today, however, is different. Today, they’re in Bermuda, and Kyle can’t stop thinking about how good it would feel to shove Stan out of bed and kick him until he stops moving.

Spousal abuse is definitely illegal, though, and technically he’d be assaulting a police officer, too, so Kyle’s much better option is to get the hell out of this crappy motel room before it comes to that. Maybe he’ll go to a bar and fuck a stranger in the bathroom. He’s never done it before, but his priorities aren’t usually with trying to make Stan cry.

Unfortunately, before Kyle can actually make it outside, Stan rolls toward him and croaks out, “Kyle, wait, please.” He sounds like he is literally dying. “I just need you to do one thing. Please.”

Despite his better judgment, Kyle slowly turns back around. “Yah?” He really needs to just go, and quickly, before he explodes, but there is a strong temptation to stay and explode right here. “Because I needed you to do one thing,” Kyle says, trying to sound cold, but failing terribly, a furious tremor infecting his voice, “Which was to not get completely fucking wasted last night.”

“I’m sorry,” Stan replies in a whisper. “I know I fucked up. It’s okay that you’re angry, and I don’t want to make you stay here all day. I just, before you go, could you get me some Pedialyte? There’s that grocery store just a block away.”

“You are really fucking unbelievable!” Kyle is done pretending to be anything but savagely angry. “How about you get your own shit?” Before Stan can answer, Kyle takes a deep, furious, shuddering breath, and lets it out. “You know what? Fine. I will. You don’t deserve it, but I will, because I’m a better person than you.” Kyle stomps across the room to grab his wallet and the room key. As an afterthought, he rips open the curtains and floods the room with sunlight. When he passes Stan–who is now covering his eyes with a pillow–Kyle grabs the pillow, chucks it, and then smacks Stan in the face. “…Fucking asshole.”

When he exits, Kyle makes a note to slam the door behind him with as much force as possible. After he has waited for the elevator and ridden it down to the lobby, he realizes he could have turned the TV on full-blast too, and possibly shut off the air-conditioner, because really, really, fuck Stan.

Kyle walks the block to Tom’s Mart, a tiny store that seems more like a gas station-sans-gas than a grocery store. He asks for Pedialyte, and isn’t at all surprised to find out they don’t carry it. He leaves with a book and breakfast sandwich for himself, and for Stan, a box of Ritz crackers, and both a blue Gatorade and red Poweraid, not sure which Stan would prefer, and somewhat hoping he’ll dislike both.

When Kyle returns to the room, there’s no sign of Stan, so he goes to check the bathroom. There, he finds his better half on his knees in front of the toilet, eyes and cheeks damp from the strain of excessive vomiting. In between heaving, Stan clutches at his temples, as if to try and physically squeeze the pain out.

“I’m surprised there’s anything left to come up,” Kyle observes, leaning against the sink. He’s trying to enjoy the schadenfreude, but slowly, frustratingly, compassion is starting to seep in and diffuse Kyle’s rage.

“There wasn’t, until I tried to drink some water.” Stan folds his arms over the seat of the toilet and rests his head there. Kyle immediately recoils.

“Jesus, Stan, get your head up!! Ugh, fucking– ew, you’ll get–- something! I don’t even want to think about which microbes are multiplying there.” Without thinking, without realizing, Kyle hurries over and lifts Stan’s head up off the toilet. “Do you WANT to get herpes on your eyeball?”

“M'pretty sure that’s not a thing,” Stan says, leaning back against Kyle and then sliding down onto the floor. “But’m not the doctor.”

Kyle stands there, looking down with revulsion at this display. His eyes shift to Stan’s hand, to the silver band on his finger, and tries not to dwell on how all this is a reflection upon himself. “I’m drawing you a bath.”

“I thought you were leaving.”

“I will, as soon as I’m convinced you won’t die as soon as I go.”

Kyle makes a poor man’s bubble bath by adding the motel’s complimentary liquid body wash to the water, then helps Stan into the tub. After about ten minutes of watching Stan grasp at his temples, Kyle goes to turn off the bathroom light. Over the course of the next hour, he gets Stan to eat two Ritz crackers and one full glass of half-Gatorade, half-water without throwing up.

Kyle is seated on a folded bath towel on the floor, his back against the tub, passing time with his new book, a trashy thing entitled “Unbridled Love”. He can sense Stan staring at its cover from over his shoulder.

Eventually, Stan clears his throat and asks, “Are you… enjoying your book?”

“Oh, fuck off, like you’re in any position to judge me,” Kyle snaps, immediately defensive.

“What! No! I wasn’t judging!! I’m honestly asking! You seem really. Engrossed.”

Kyle turns to face Stan, frowning slightly. “It’s. Not what it looks like.”

“It looks like porn.”

“Yah, well. That’s what I was counting on, but. False advertising. It’s not. It’s actually very… emotional,” Kyle admits, not sure how he feels about this. Unnervingly, he is quickly becoming invested in the characters.

“Ah,” Stan replies. There’s a long pause before he speaks up again, hesitant. “Are you, um, still going out?”

“Obviously not,” Kyle snaps, keeping his eyes on the book.

“You can,” Stan says, “It’s okay. I’m feeling better now.”

“Great,” Kyle says, unconvinced. “You’ve been in there too long, so let’s get you out.”

Stan starts to stand, fails spectacularly at hiding the wave of nausea that washes over him, and sinks right back down into the water. Kyle glares, and Stan puts his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin your day.”

“Too late.”

“You can still go out,” Stan insists. “It’s only–”

In an instant, Kyle’s rage returns. “No, you’re right! I should go. That’s why we came here, right? So we can both go our separate ways. I can’t wait to explore Bermuda alone.”

Kyle stands and hurries out of the bathroom before he can do something gay, like cry. He is okay acting like an unstable maniac, but he’d rather drink pee than seem pathetic.

He hears water sloshing as Stan tries to get out of the tub, hears a clang as the toilet is hastily smacked open, hears the revolting splash of fresh vomit hitting water. He drops into bed but stays alert, dabbing his eyes whenever a tear escapes. He prepares to look disinterested and uncaring as soon as Stan makes it out of the bathroom. Kyle waits, and waits, but Stan might never make it out of there, and eventually Kyle falls asleep.

When Kyle wakes up, he feels the warmth of Stan’s body pressed against his. His instinct is to snuggle closer, and he does. Then he wakes up fully, pulls away, and reaches back to punch Stan in the ribs.

“Ow! Kyle! I said I’m sorry!”

“Yah well, fuck you anyway.”

Stan sighs, and Kyle takes note of his minty-fresh breath. “Kyle, I’m sorry. But listen. I’m already feeling… less bad. I’m sorry I killed the morning, but it’s only ten. We can still make the cruise.”

“Again, fuck you, and also, no, you will definitely not be better in four hours.”

“Maybe not perfectly better, but I’ll be well enough to go. If I get sick… well, it’s a cruise, we can just blame it on seasickness.”

“Says the guy who spent a month at sea with eco-terrorists.”

“They don’t know that.”

Kyle can’t help but smile. Stan is obviously proud of himself. He knows two things that are guaranteed to make Kyle smile; tails of his epic stupidity, and a reminder of just how long they’ve been in each others’ lives.

Over the course of the next three hours, they watch four re-runs of House on Netflix and Stan manages to keep down an entire sleeve of crackers, finish the Gatorade, and walk himself to the bathroom for a piss. Once the vomiting phase seems to have passed, Kyle hands him another glass of water and two aspirin, and by two o'clock, Stan begins to once again resemble a healthy human adult, showered and dressed and everything, and only slightly artichoke-colored.

Kyle has dozed off again, this time to a sweet dream of tangent skydiving with a half-naked Hugh Laurie. He doesn’t appreciate being shaken awake by Stan, who is holding the empty Gatorade bottle.

“Kyle, what is this? I asked for Pedialyte.”

Kyle yawns and rubs at his eyes. “They didn’t have that, but this is essentially the same thing. Sugar and electrolytes and whatnot.”

“…but it also has high-fructose corn syrup.”

“Well, yes. But considering last night you downed half a bottle of rum and a pint of super-acidic fruit juice… fuck you?”

Stan frowns and tosses the bottle, but doesn’t dare push it. They have to take a taxi to the docks to make it on time, and the ride takes nearly fifteen minutes. Kyle can’t bare to look at the meter. This was a carefully budgeted six-day getaway, and expensive taxi rides definitely weren’t included.

They arrive with four minutes to spare. The good seats are all taken, so they head to the bow of the ship and stand there, hip-to-hip, leaning over the railing with crossed arms. When a waitress offers two complimentary glasses of champagne, Kyle makes a show of tossing the contents of Stan’s glass into the sea.

The ship sets off, and they stand together in silence for a while, Stan with his arms wrapped around Kyle. “I’m glad you finally said yes,” Stan eventually says, referring to the six years encompassing his many proposals. This isn’t their honeymoon, but it is their first extravagant getaway as a couple, and they may have fibbed to a few of the excursion companies for the sake of freebies.

“You sure by the end you weren’t just after validation?” Kyle asks, smirking, playing this comment off as a lame joke and not one of his most sincere fears. While Stan is not an alcoholic, his relationship with alcohol certainly isn’t healthy. Sometimes, he just loses control, and other times, he self-medicates. That’s always Kyle’s fear, on days like today, that perhaps the drinking is a symptom of some deeper unhappiness, like when they were kids. If Stan can’t be happy in Bermuda, on a trip they picked and planned and scrimped and saved for, then by process of elimination, the problem must be Kyle. They’ve been married just under two years, and every binge still feels like a knife to the chest.

Stan isn’t stupid. Kyle takes comfort in the facade that Stan can’t read him, but Stan can, so well that he knows to pretend he can’t.

So Stan chuckles, but doesn’t offer even a joking affirmative, and instead pulls Kyle tighter. “I’m sorry I lost track last night. I was just really, really happy. I was celebrating how great everything turned out.”

It’s the perfect thing to say. Even though Kyle will probably never destroy the tiny, paranoid voice that lives in his head, whispering horrible things night and day, these assurances help keep him sane.

Kyle leans in for a kiss, but Stan stops him with a raised hand. Before Kyle can be offended, before the little voice can gloat, Stan leans over the side of the boat and pukes. “It really is a mystery,” Kyle says, speaking between Stan’s retching, “why I turned you down so many times.”

With effort, Stan pulls his head back over the side of the ship and leans in as if to kiss Kyle, though he wouldn’t dare. “Hey,” he says with affection. “Fuck you too.”


	5. The Lonely Jew at the Spring Formal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Stan/Kyle) 1,180 words
> 
> Stan and Kyle’s daughter doesn’t know why nobody will ask her out, but she has a theory.
> 
> Written for [spdrabblebomb](https://spdrabblebomb.tumblr.com) ("Growth")!

The Spring Formal is Friday and Ellie Marsh is the only girl at school without a date.

It doesn't make any sense. Sure, she isn't a beauty queen like Jessica Stevens, but she's no Lydia Cartman either. She's also especially popular with the boys; nearly all of her best friends are guys. Despite this, nobody has asked her to the Spring Formal. In fact, nobody has ever asked her to _any_ school dance—ever.

The injustice of this reality builds in her mind as she walks home from the bus stop, and by the time she steps through the door, she has been consumed by a fury that she unleashes upon the first person she sees.

"Dad!" she yells, breathing in angry little huffs. "Will you please tell me what the hell is wrong with guys!?"

Stan looks up from his seat at the kitchen table, a half-eaten apple in his hand.

"Um, what?" he asks, confused.

Ellie can sense him studying her face and grimaces, knowing he is reading her like a book and hating him for it. Stan claims he can only do it because she has Kyle's eyes. Stan can read Kyle like a book, too.

"Nobody has asked me to the dance!" she explains in a hurry, wanting to deny him the satisfaction of figuring it out himself. "Not even any of my friends—not even to just go as friends! So what the hell? What do I have to do to get a friggin' date!?"

"Um," Stan replies, obviously stalling. Ellie doesn't need special skills to read Stan's face; he is clearly uncomfortable and withholding key information. It's the same look he had when, after returning from her first health education class, she asked how two men make a baby.

"What?" she presses, stepping closer and narrowing her eyes. "What is it? What do you know?"

"Nothing!" he says, but it's clear that he's lying.

"Did... did Daddy tell you something?" she asks. Judging by the grimace on Stan's face, she is getting warmer. "Does he know why none of the boys will ask me out?"

Stan looks like he ate several worms that are now fighting their way back up his esophagus. Ellie walks right up to Stan and crosses her arms. With him sitting and her standing, she is just the right height to glare directly into his eyes.

" _Tell me_ ," she insists, slowly enunciating both words.

"Ellie, is knowing the answer worth becoming a kid from a broken home?" Stan pleads. This is a common evasive tactic for him, but it usually works because Ellie can't be sure what Kyle would or wouldn't divorce Stan over. Kyle can be pretty vindictive at times.

"I won't tell him you told me," she promises.

But just then, the door opens and in walks Kyle. Ellie can hear Stan whispering, begging for her not to say anything, but Stan knows perfectly well that Ellie inherited her short temper directly from Kyle, and nothing stops Kyle's temper.

"Have you been telling boys not to ask me out?" she demands, turning the full brunt of her fury on Kyle.

"Nice to see you too, Ellie," Kyle replies. He sets his briefcase on the table and drops into an empty seat across Stan. "Welcome home from school."

"You totally did, didn't you!!" she screeches.

"I may have insinuated that Uncle Kenny would arrest them if they looked at you or touched you or thought about you in any way that wasn't entirely pure," he admits, muttering.

"Well, stop doing it!"

"Okay, I will," Kyle agrees, and Ellie relaxes, but then he adds, "As soon as you turn twenty-five."

"Are you insane? Dad, come on! Tell him he's being insane!" She turns to Stan just in time to see him slipping out of the kitchen and into the living room. Coward. She turns back around with a dramatic flail and points a finger at Kyle. "Didn't you and Dad start dating when you were twelve!?"

"No, I told you, we were twenty-five." 

"Uncle Kenny said you were twelve! And that you were only _fourteen_ the first time you fu—"

"—okay, okay, please stop!" Kyle begs, throwing his hands up.

"The point is, I'm sixteen! You gotta let me have a life!"

"I do! Just not with boys."

"Joke's on you, Daddy!!" Ellie yells, her voice raising with each word. "Almost all my friends are guys!"

"Gay guys," Kyle says. "As I only scare off the straight ones."

"You're being insane!"

"Tough shit!"

Ellie glowers at Kyle, then spins on her heels and stomps up the stairs to her bedroom. She slams the door with as much force as possible, throws herself onto her bed, and screams into her pillow.

***

Hours later, Ellie is still in bed, fuming and texting furiously with her friends. Her door opens and Kyle steps in; without thinking, Ellie grabs the pillow and chucks it at his head. It misses him by at least three feet. 

"Fuck off, Daddy!!" she screams at him. "No boys allowed!!"

This is met with silence—not even a reprimand for cursing at him—so she can't help but look over. Kyle looks somewhat apologetic, although his arms are crossed and she can see one of the veins in his forehead twitching.

"Ellie," he starts to say, but Ellie cuts him off.

"I'm the only girl in the entire school going to the dance alone! Again! And it's all your fault! You're an awful father!!"

Ignoring this outburst, Kyle continues with the same placating tone.

"Dad seems to think I've been going a little overboard, so," he says, taking a long, deep breath, as if readying himself. "You can tell the boys at school that I won't cut the brake wires in their cars if they ask you out."

"You've— Wait— You said that!? To who!?"

"—Or put ricin in their food," Kyle continues, "Or push them off a bridge, or—" he suddenly stops talking, noticing the disturbed look on his daughter's face.

"I think you spend too much time with Mr. Cartman," she suggests coyly, knowing this will hit a nerve. It does, and Kyle's reaction is both immediate and satisfying; he is utterly horrified.

"The point is, I'll stop!" Kyle says defensively. "They were only empty threats anyway!!"

"So, if a boy comes here asking to take me to a movie...?" she presses.

"That's fine," Kyle concedes.

"What if they kiss me?"

"That's—fine, too."

"What if I spend the night at their house?"

"I'll end them," Kyle says, deadly serious. "But," he adds, softening once again, "That's an okay compromise for now, I hope?"

"Sure," she agrees.

"Okay," Kyle says, breathing out this word like it's costing ten years of his life to say it. He starts walking out of her room, but pauses suddenly right at the doorway. He turns and says, "Hey, Ellie, I— Am I really an awful father?"

"No," she replies immediately, smiling. "As a matter of fact, I think you are the nicest father I've ever known."


	6. Kyle’s Tragic Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (no pairing) 606 words
> 
> Kyle is moody.
> 
> Written for [spdrabblebomb](https://spdrabblebomb.tumblr.com) ("Rainstorm")!

Kyle watches the storm from the warmth of his bedroom; his position offers an ideal view of the rain and allows him to channel his minimal energy toward scowling at the droplets as they smack against his window. He is spending the day doing exactly what he did every day for the past three weeks: laying on his back in bed and stewing in resentment.

He recalls that nobody was particularly surprised when Garrison kicked him from class the minute he showed symptoms of a high fever and chills, nor were they shocked when the school nurse announced that Kyle had once again kicked off a flu epidemic at South Park Elementary as patient zero, this time at the start of spring. He’d been bedridden for a week, but then cleared by his pediatrician and sent back to school. It took only four days for him to relapse with bacterial pneumonia and Sheila was beside herself with a level of hyperbolic dread only a Jewish mother could contain.

Three weeks of x-rays and antibiotics later, Kyle is again cleared to return to society, but Sheila is convinced he could drop dead at any moment. She took one look at the weather forecast and forbad Kyle from going outside. She is holding his college fund hostage for good measure, lest he allow Stan to rescue him through his second-story bedroom window.

His phone dings, distracting him from the depressing cesspool that are his thoughts. Kyle rolls on his side and tilts the screen toward him, lifting it just enough to be able to see: New Message – Stan M. He unlocks his phone and reads,

_me & ken r goin 2 sp com w us_

_I can’t go outside,_ he texts back, _Mom is worried I’ll get sick again._

He scowls and chucks his phone across the room; it lands with a _thunk_ muffled only slightly by the padding of the carpet. Stan ought to know that he can’t go. Honestly, even asking is inconsiderate; is he intentionally rubbing Kyle’s nose in all the fun they’re having without him?

He can hear Stan blowing up his phone with follow-up texts, but he doesn’t have the energy to retrieve it. He rolls on his back again and closes his eyes, trying not to hate Stan and failing. Any decent friend, he reasons, would change their plans for the sake of their _super best friend_ , and yet the best Kyle can hope for is a visit several hours from now. He’ll have to pretend to be happy to see Stan, rather than pissed off by the sight of his flushed, happy, muddy face.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on his breathing, or the sound of the rain, or anything except how much fun Stan and Kenny are probably having together. Will they have some grand adventure and bond over it? How long until Kenny usurps Kyle’s position as the better best friend?

He huffs and rolls over, burying his face in blankets and groaning loudly in frustration and misery. He does this for a long time—until he feels that some amount of his anxiety has lessened, then lifts his head. He startles, not expecting to see two boys standing in the open doorway. He didn’t hear them at all. Stan looks uncomfortable and Kenny is barely containing his laughter.

“We, uh,” Stan says, “Thought we’d come over and play games. ‘Cuz you can’t go out, so.” He smiles a little awkwardly. “It wouldn’t have been fun without you anyway,” he adds.

Kyle nearly falls out of bed in his rush to join his wonderful, thoughtful friends.


	7. Five Proposals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Stan/Kyle) 1,095 words
> 
> Stan is romantic but Kyle is not.
> 
> Written for [spdrabblebomb](https://spdrabblebomb.tumblr.com) ("Proposal")!

The first time Stan proposes, they’re five years old and he offers up a tiny, knotted flower for a ring.

“Nah,” Kyle answers, as though Stan had just offered him a French fry and not a life-changing opportunity.  “I think I’m gonna marry Bebe.”

Stan is crushed but undeterred.  He asks again when they’re nine, upgrading the ring to gaudy costume jewelry, a huge plastic thing he swiped from his mother the day after Halloween.  It’s January now; Bebe and Kyle didn’t work out and Kyle just recently swore off girls forever.  Stan, having waited for his chance, sees and takes it.

“I don’t know,” Kyle answers this time.  It’s an improvement but Stan is still dejected.  “I don’t think my mom would be cool with me marrying a Catholic.”

In 7th grade, Kenny starts giving Stan advice.  “You gotta create urgency so he takes you seriously,” Kenny explains.  “Make him jealous.”

The next day, Stan asks Wendy out, and to his endless surprise, Kenny’s idea works.  He and Kyle are official by the end of the month, holding hands under the lunch table and kissing in secret during their weekly sleepovers.

As he grows older, Stan starts to better understand marriage in a real, adult sense.  He watches chick flicks for research and starts pooling his dog-sitting money.  By the end of 8th grade, he’s saved enough for a real ring; it’s not a diamond or anything, but he picks out a nice one with a silver band and glistening emerald.

He means to propose in a dramatic, rehearsed way, but then he and Kyle try mouth stuff for the first time and he can’t shake the feeling that he needs to lock this shit down _now_.  He flops over the side of the bed to dig through his discarded jeans—he carries the ring everywhere—and gracelessly presents it to his dubious boyfriend.

“It’s not legal in Colorado,” Kyle says, but at least he has the decency to look guilty this time.  “And even if it was, we’re not old enough.”  Stan, utterly dejected, stares down at the duvet and wills himself not to cry.  Perhaps sensing this, Kyle attempts a reassuring smile.  “Maybe later though?”

Even Stan knows that _maybe later_ is universal code for _no_.

Despite this, they stay together and their relationship carries them through the end of high school.  They’re both eighteen now and Colorado legalized gay marriage two years earlier.  Kyle, the class valedictorian, is getting a huge party thrown by his mother who knows about their relationship and reluctantly tolerates it.  It’s the perfect time for a proposal and Kyle is definitely out of excuses to say no.

“I’m not white trash,” Kyle replies when Stan asks.  He looks legitimately insulted.  “I’m not getting married until I at least have a college degree.”

Stan can’t take any more rejection and puts the ring away in a box with Sparky’s ashes.  He doesn’t propose at their college graduation party or at their housewarming party a few months later.  He isn’t even tempted to ask at their 15th anniversary dinner.  They have a good life together even if Kyle seems to have something against marriage.  Stan mourns a little every time he has to call Kyle his boyfriend instead of his husband, but Stan would do almost anything to stay with Kyle, even live in sin.

He never manages to quit daydreaming about it, though, and as his thirtieth birthday approaches, Stan becomes more and more eager to ask one last time.  He fishes out the ring from the back of his closet and stares at it for a long time before pocketing it.

***

Stan fidgets where he stands in the living room, his eyes glued to the clock.  Kyle will be home any minute and then Stan will propose.  If Kyle says no, Stan will finally, truly accept that it’s never going to happen.  Kyle isn’t the romantic type and never was, but Stan loves him anyway.  It’s a mantra Stan has to recite every time Kyle rolls his eyes at a bouquet of roses, or tosses out the pink teddy bear that says _I love you_ , or mercilessly destroys a heart-shaped box just to get at the chocolates inside, or forgets their anniversary, or can’t answer when someone asks how long they’ve been together.

The door opens and Kyle steps in.  Stan takes one last deep, steadying breath, then dashes over and drops to one knee.

Kyle is still struggling with his keys when he turns around and spots Stan.  He groans and reaches down to try and pull Stan up by the shoulders.

“Stan, get up.  I’m too tired for sex right now.”

Stan freezes, blinking up at him.  He had prepared for any number of gentle rejections and even a _yes_ , but he hadn’t planned for this.  In hindsight, it was bad planning; Kyle’s assumption was completely logical given the usual reasons Stan drops to his knees without warning.

Slowly, slowly, Stan reaches into his pocket for the ring.  His hand gets caught and he struggles to pull the thing out, then Kyle seems to understand.

“Oh, fuck,” Kyle says, laughing a little but also looking very guilty.  “Were you proposing?  Did I fuck it up?”

Stan finally gets the ring out and holds it up rather pathetically.  “You’ll only fuck it up if you say no.”

“Fine, yes,” Kyle says, rolling his eyes.  “Do we have to do the big ceremony though?  We don’t exactly have tens of thousands of dollars lying around to waste on cake and flowers.”

Stan should be ecstatic; he always was in his fantasies, but he really, _really_ wants that stupid party too.  He wants to invite everyone he ever knew from school and rub his perfect relationship in their faces.  “Can we,” he asks sheepishly, “At least have a small party?”

“Fine, okay, whatever, but it’s counting as your birthday present.”

“That’s fine!” Stan says, jumping up as all the joy finally hits him like a wave.

They stand there somewhat awkwardly, staring at each other.  Stan wants Kyle to put on the ring but thinks that may be too much to ask right now, so instead he grins and asks, “You still too tired for sex?”

“I guess not,” Kyle concedes, but he actually does look pretty tired.  Stan can empathize; he never lasted long at any job that required him to sit at a desk all day.  “You’re doing all the work though.”

“I always do,” Stan says, smiling and hoisting Kyle over his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: dayoldcupcake


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